Hunted: A Reverse Harem Shifter Romance (The Feral Souls Trilogy - Book 1)

by Erica Woods

  “W-what are you d-doing?” I leaned back, small pebbles digging into my palms. All my instincts screamed at me to flee, but I couldn’t get my legs to work.

  The beast didn’t reply. With a narrowed, predatory stare he moved back into my personal space, determination clear in the set line of his jaw and compressed lips. Again, the word beast floated through my mind, accompanied by feral and untamed as I imagined him stalking his prey, making it wild with panic before chasing it into some unknown trap and delivering the killing blow.

  The mental image, so reminiscent of my own monster, was enough to pull me out of my fear-spiral and remind me that I had my own beast to control. It was right there, lurking beneath the surface, ready to tear free and commit unspeakable crimes.

  Not good, Hope! Even my inner voice sounded shaky. Although the beast in front of me terrified me with his hulking frame and scarred face, I was more scared of the thing living inside me.

  It had already ruined my life once, taken away the one—

  I took a deep breath and shoved my monster back down to the deepest recesses of my mind, ignoring the sense of hopelessness that engulfed me when it disappeared and left me vulnerable once again.

  I snuck a peek at the beast standing so close the scent of him washed over me—he smelled like pine cones and raw masculinity, if such a thing had a scent—and met his glare with a wince.

  My muscles tensed, readying for flight at the way his narrowed gaze focused on me. His head dipped down and he . . .

  Sniffed?

  Did the beast just smell me?

  I turned my head sideways and drew a small, discreet breath in through my nose.

  Ewww!

  I smelled like dirt, blood, and sweat. Embarrassed, and confused as to why I was embarrassed, I cringed. But why should I care what the big, scary man thought of me? I’d been tortured, nearly killed. If anyone was entitled to stink, it was me!

  The small, defiant pep talk sounded good in my head, but to say it out loud?

  The thought alone had me trembling.

  When I gathered enough courage to meet his gaze again, he was running his hands through shoulder-length, midnight-black hair and shaking his head in grim confusion. Turning and giving me a clear view of his profile, he glared—I didn’t think he’d stopped glaring and scowling this entire time—and mouthed something to the first guy still standing by the car, staring at me intently.

  While the beast was distracted, I took a moment to study him. I looked up and up and . . . up. He was huge. Even bigger than the first guy. Standing up, I’d probably reach no higher than his chest. The plain black tee he wore stretched taut across a wide chest; the short sleeves looked like they were about to burst from the thick biceps pushing against the tight material.

  To say he filled out his shirt would be an understatement.

  My eyes raced across broad, muscular shoulders, up to a thick neck, and stopped at the jawline where the jagged scar from his face ended. Covered in black scruff, his jaw was square and powerful. The light silver of the eyes I had so admired were deep-seated under prominent, black brows, lending him a dangerous air. The fierce scowl he sported made him seem even less approachable.

  He was the epitome of dark, dangerous, and terrifying.

  Consider me terrified.

  “Get up,” he said gruffly.

  I shivered at his voice, so low and rough it was almost a growl.

  When I didn’t follow his command, just sat there blinking at the savage male looming above me with his arms crossed impatiently over a wide chest, one black brow raised while waiting for my supplication, he made a low, chuffing sound, bent his considerable frame, and simply lifted me straight up.

  The hands spanning the entirety of my ribcage were warm, shooting small sparks up my spine and stirring something I didn’t recognize. My whole world narrowed down to the heat emanating from those rough, calloused hands. For a second, I forgot the nauseating terror that had haunted me for the last decade.

  But just for a second.

  “Let me go!” The hoarse, pleading whisper sounded nothing like the demanding shout I wanted it to be. I gripped his hands and tried to pry them off me, dread once more clawing at my insides when all my waning strength was not enough to budge even one of his fingers.

  The beast’s scowl grew even more ferocious—an amazing feat considering how terrifying he already appeared—but he carefully lowered me until my shaky feet hit the ground.

  Of course, my traitorous leg was still injured, immediately giving out. Only his quick reflexes saved me from yet another tumble.

  “Foolish female,” he rumbled as he reached out and grabbed me. Glowering, lips pressed tightly together, he looked like he’d gladly strangle me where I stood.

  I quickly lowered my eyes, hunched my shoulders, and averted my face in preparation for the pain to come. His hands were so big, one hit had the potential to knock me unconscious.

  My lip disappeared between my teeth, and I bit down hard to stop the whimper stuck in the vicinity of my throat before closing my eyes.

  In captivity, I’d learned that the expectation of pain was almost as bad as the pain itself, especially when I knew exactly what was to come.

  The tight grip on my arm loosened and when nothing else happened, I darted a glimpse up at the beast’s face, quickly wishing I hadn’t. His firm lips were twisted in disgust, silver glare so molten it should have melted the skin off my bones. A lock of black hair fell across one eye, which he almost immediately batted away with one of his huge hands. Hands that were covered in thin, white lines.

  Scars. So many scars.

  A sliver of sympathy made a home inside my hollow chest.

  “Ash,” he roared, making me wince.

  My poor ears.

  The beast noticed my discomfort—was thoroughly annoyed by it, if the dark glower he aimed at me was any indication—and huffed. “Take her.”

  Take her? Take her? What does that mean?

  Could they be Hunters after all?

  No. No.

  Terror swamped, an icy torrent threatening to drown me. The throbbing in my leg intensifying with my fear, and I must have made a sound—probably something like a choked gurgle—because both the beast and the first man, the one I assumed was Ash, whipped their heads around and frowned down at me.

  Ash’s intense blue gaze penetrated the hazy terror, dispersing it piece by piece until my heaving breaths slowed to a trickle.

  “You are scaring the girl, Ruarc,” Ash admonished lightly, eyes still on mine.

  Ruarc grunted, unconcerned.

  “What is your name?” Ash took a slow step toward us.

  “H-Hope,” I whispered, silently cursing my vocal cords for sounding so timid when I was trying my hardest to appear strong.

  “Hello, Hope,” Ash said. Although his face was devoid of any emotions, there was something comforting in the way he looked at me. “I’m Ash,” he continued and patted himself once on the chest, something I found vaguely strange but appealing at the same time. “The male standing with you is Ruarc. He will not hurt you.” Ash took another step, his piercing, intelligent eyes exuding a slow-burning patience that had me leaning closer, hungry for the calm in those blue depths.

  Ruarc made a weird, huffing sound that snapped me out of my fascination. When I looked back at Ash, it was with suspicion instead of wonder. How did he do that?

  “W-what did he m-mean when he . . . When he said to take me?” I addressed Ash. Despite his weird voodoo eye magic, he still felt safer than the beast.

  Ruarc.

  Ruarc scowled. “Hospital.” The grip on my arm tightened.

  “No!” I pulled against the restraining hold, only aware of the blood rushing through my veins and the stark terror it carried.

  Both men stilled at my outburst. Something hot and dangerous lurked behind Ruarc’s silver eyes, but it was Ash who spoke in a voice so quiet I barely heard it. “Why do you not want to go to the hospital?”

&n
bsp; Something about his tone held me captive. “I . . . I just . . .” I racked my brain for a plausible reason for why a woman in her twenties, obviously hurt, wouldn’t want to go to the hospital. “I’m afraid of needles,” I blurted.

  “You are afraid of needles,” Ash repeated slowly. He shot a quick look at Ruarc who continued to glare.

  Cold tendrils of fear coiled deep in my belly. They don’t believe you, my subconscious screamed. I was frozen, terrified they would somehow be connected to the Hunters, or simply ignore my wishes and take me to the hospital regardless of what I said. I hadn’t had many choices in the last eighteen years, and the thought of this one being taken away from me turned my stomach with a sharpness that threatened to make me hurl.

  I tried to speak, mouth opening before snapping shut again. I’m not good at this. I had no practice making up stories, and I couldn’t just tell them the real reason: that I was fleeing for my life and the Hunters had contacts everywhere. The hospitals would be one of the first places they’d look.

  “I-I can’t stand doctors.” I put as much of my desperation as I could into my voice, hoping my fear of the Hunters would lend truth to my words.

  Ruarc sucked in a harsh breath and scanned my face. After a second, fierce determination filled his hard features and he nodded once at Ash.

  I didn’t know what it meant, but I followed his gaze, almost stumbling when I glimpsed his raw, painful grimace. It was gone and replaced by a neutral, thoughtful expression so quickly I thought I may have imagined it.

  “Ash,” Ruarc growled. His body was taut, on the verge of movement, but he held his powerful frame still, waiting.

  “Yes.” Ash nodded once and my world turned upside down.

  4

  HOPE

  Despite my outrage at being carried like a sack of potatoes, I didn’t dare complain. Partly because despite the broadness of Ruarc’s shoulders, I was terrified he would accidentally drop me if I so much as wriggled my little toe, and partly because my mind was wailing in panic, making it hard to concentrate on anything besides the danger I found myself in with my imminent kidnapping.

  Not only did I know nothing about these guys—they could be serial killers for all I knew—but they were built like warriors. Even though Ash exuded a quiet confidence, I could sense the restrained power in him. It showed in the predatory gait he couldn’t quite hide, his easy steps, and broad shoulders.

  So yeah, Ash was scary in his own deceptively calm way, but Ruarc was downright terrifying. There was nothing deceptive about him, just pure masculine power wrapped in a beastly exterior obviously meant for destruction. If someone were to ask me what I thought he did for a living, I would’ve guessed he was an ancient Viking warrior who relished in his choice of profession of raiding and maiming.

  By the time the world righted itself and I was once again on solid ground—closer to the car, but still a few feet away—I was shaking uncontrollably, convinced I was about to be chopped up and put in the back of their trunk.

  This is it, I thought. It was all for nothing.

  As I battled dread and the ever-present fear that’d been my constant companion these last eighteen years, a strange tingle began in the tips of my fingers. It grew, slid up my arms, tickled my neck seductively, and filled my mind with a fiery red glow.

  Rage had a distinct taste, alluring yet bitter. It tempted, beckoned, and though I knew it would leave me hollow and alone if I listened to its beguiling voice, I didn’t fight it.

  Giving in, I closed my eyes and called to the darkness inside me, begged it for help. I steeled myself for the loss of control, for the brutality of my monster and—

  Nothing happened.

  My eyes flew open, heart hammering at an alarming speed. The shaking got worse as the rage fled like it had never been, leaving me alone—completely alone this time—with the terror of awaiting a fate sure to be gruesome.

  “Be calm.” Ash’s deep, centered voice floated through my mind. His hand was gentle but firm as he squeezed my shoulder. “No one here is going to hurt you, Hope.”

  Tilting my head back, I met his bright blue gaze and the tightness in my chest loosened. I could finally breathe.

  “W-where are you taking me?” I whispered.

  “Home.” He nodded at something behind me. I was tempted to turn around to see what it was, but I was loath to take my eyes off him until I knew exactly what would happen to me—and why.

  “Th-that’s not necessary,” I said. “I’m f-fine. I’m fine,” I repeated when Ruarc made a rude sound of disagreement. “If you could just give me a ride into the city, I would really appreciate it. I don’t need . . .” I trailed off at the firm shake of Ash’s head, the lone feather in his hair bobbing precariously.

  How is that thing staying put?

  “Idiotic females,” Ruarc grumbled. He rolled his eyes in a way that clearly stated we—females as a whole—were all moronic. I wanted to say something to defend my gender, almost did too, but his scowl scared me off.

  “Ruarc,” Ash said softly, “wait in the car.” When the other man failed to heed his order, I could have sworn I heard a warning growl coming from Ash. A sound that belonged in the jungle, not among humans.

  Keeping my eye on the bigger threat—the angry beast that was Ruarc—seemed like a good idea, but I still snuck a peek at Ash, and when I did . . . Gone was the calm, pensive man from a moment ago. In his stead stood an inflexible wall of power with a will so strong I could feel it battering at my defenses. I had to stop myself from stepping toward the car and getting in myself.

  After a few seconds of unbearable tension, Ruarc made an animal sound of his own and strode to the car.

  I jumped at the loud, angry bang of the door slamming shut, and stood there alone with a man I had thought of as, if not safe, then at least safer than Ruarc.

  While I stared at Ash, mouth gaping like a moron, his shoulders slowly lost their rigid tension. The unyielding light was gone from his eyes, replaced by tranquility.

  I blinked, amazed at the quick transformation from raging thunderstorm to clear, still waters.

  “Hope,” he began, voice low and soothing, “you are clearly in dire need of help. You reek of fear and desperation. Wait—” He held up his hand, stopping my insulted sputtering before I could inform him of the fact that fear and desperation didn’t have a smell and that it was rude to comment on it anyway.

  Okay, I wouldn’t have said that, but I sure did think it loudly.

  “Let me finish, please.” He was so polite, I couldn’t stop myself from nodding. “It does not matter to us what you are running from—yes, it is clear you are running,” Ash said when I drew in a quick, startled breath. “We almost ran you over with our car. The least we can do is offer you a safe place to spend the night. And a warm meal. I promise you, you are free to leave whenever you want. We just want to make sure you are healthy enough to do so.”

  The sincerity in his voice, coupled with the observant, yet gentle way he was eyeing me, made me want to trust him. If he could see me, truly see me, and still look at me with kindness . . . Well, that was something I’d wanted for a long, long time.

  Don’t fool yourself, Hope. He doesn’t know what you have done. What you are. And if he did, he would look at you with contempt, not acceptance or kindness.

  But he had offered me a choice. My very first, freely-given choice. A sense of calm descended over me while a flutter of emotion I didn’t recognize flapped its flimsy wings. It wasn’t like I had anywhere else to go. With them, I’d have a roof over my head and I’d be away from the Hunters. At least for a night. I could always begin my search for my uncle tomorrow.

  He’s giving me a choice.

  My heart stuttered, skipped a beat, then raced with renewed vigor. Or maybe I’d go once my leg was healed.

  He’s giving me a choice.

  I lifted my chin, met his steady blue gaze and saw only compassion. “O-okay,” I whispered, wondering if I’d just made the second bigg
est mistake of my life. “Okay.”

  With my attention shackled to Ash and my back to the car, I hadn’t noticed the two figures appearing behind me. I didn’t spot them until Ash moved, motioning for me to follow, and as soon as I saw them, I stopped. And I stared.

  The two men waiting impatiently by the car were like the sun and the moon, but where the sun typically outshone the moon, here it was the opposite. The man I later found out to be Lucien was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. He looked like a Greek god, carved from marble and forever untouchable by lowly humans.

  His skin was pale, luminous like the moon, with no hint of a blemish to mar the perfection of his face. High, sharp cheekbones and a narrow, straight nose set the stage for a harsh kind of beauty that was almost painful to look at. Lips that would look soft and inviting on any other man were pressed into a thin line of displeasure. Instead of detracting from his looks, it gave him an air of unattainability, mocking anyone stupid enough to admire the masculine piece of art that would never belong to anyone but himself—or whichever goddess he found worthy.

  His cold eyes were meadow green, framed by thick, sooty-black lashes and perfect eyebrows. A slightly narrow but sculpted jaw ended in a rectangular chin, the result of superb genetics or extreme luck. Tall, although not as tall as Ruarc, and lean rather than bulky, he was still muscular. Sculpted chest and shoulders gave way to narrow hips and long legs hugged by the expensive-looking suit he wore.

  A low laugh snapped me out of my obvious gawking. “Enjoying the view, love?” the other, warmer man asked.

  My cheeks flushed scarlet, and I looked away from Lucien, the ruthlessly handsome marble statue who was actually a flesh and blood man.

  God, they must all think I am a complete moron, I thought, taking small comfort in the fact that at least Ruarc hadn’t seen my idiocy—he’d folded his powerful frame into the car and was angrily fiddling with the radio last I checked.

  Resisting the urge to fan my overly hot face, I squared my shoulders and looked back up, meeting Lucien’s arctic, contemptuous stare. “Let her enjoy this experience, Jason,” he said icily, his crisp, British accent cracking like a whip. “I sincerely doubt she’s had the occasion to see males of my caliber.” This was said matter-of-factly, not like he was bragging, but like he knew how gorgeous he was and was simply stating a fact he didn’t much care about. “If the men of her acquaintance are anything like her, the view must be abysmal.”